


for a mistaken crown of hyacinths

by aisverse



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Competent Merlin (Merlin), F/F, Good Morgana (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Jealous Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), M/M, Pining Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29000010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aisverse/pseuds/aisverse
Summary: Arthur demanded for a competent manservant for years. Yet when a hollowed emptiness greets him behind closed doors, he frantically tries to understand why Merlin no longer touches him.
Relationships: Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 41
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Arthur was a bitch to write. He only started allowing me to actually write once Morgana came into the scene. 🤨 Go figure.

The sun came blinking into the room. A honey tinted glow reflected off a discarded silver tray on a table and glinted directly towards the bed, splashing onto his face. The sun’s glare itched on his skin and it ached like a candle was being held against his closed eyelids.

Arthur winced and pressed his head into lilac scented pillows, scrunching what bit of sheets remained on the bed in his hands.

Heat spread across his shoulders as the minutes passed and the sun continued, licking his spine as it crawled down his freckled splattered back. 

Arthur was tempted to ignore the shrill pinched voice inside him, sounding suspiciously of a young Morgana, that screamed for him to get up. The warmth along his back was becoming intense and he knew it would only start to burn the longer he remained sprawled on the sheets. Once, when Merlin had fallen to a night sickness according to Gaius, Arthur had slept through the morning knight’s training and his exposed back had blistered for weeks despite the balm he screeched at Merlin to apply every night.

As the minutes stretched, Arthur turned his head in the direction of the door that separated his chambers from the remainder of the castle.

“ _Merlin_!” Arthur yelled. His voice echoed against the cobblestone walls and yet the door remained shut. Not even the guards he knew were stationed outside flinched. 

Arthur grunted hoarsely and finally pushed himself into swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His feet soaked in the rough stone flooring and he dug a toenail between two stones absently. 

The crevices were clean. The plaster that held the stones together glimmered white, and even the stones were a shade brighter than they had been since his infancy. 

His eyes swept over the room.

Pristine white translucent curtains were drawn and swaying delicately, catching on a soft breeze slipping in through the mildly nudged opened windows. The documents he had left scattered on his desk were organized into rows of straighten stacks, separated by type and status of completion. The armour pieces he had thrown over an armchair by the fireplace were hung purposefully next to the door on a wooden display. It glinted in the sunlight. Clearly the mud from the training grounds yesterday had been freshly cleaned. Clothes he had stripped off by the foot of the bed were missing, along with a wicker basket that usually sat tucked into a corner beside his cupboard. 

The room had a scent of peeled tangerines wafting in the air, and it should’ve felt comforting. Especially accompanied by the strong savoury aroma of roasted sausages, fried eggs, and a fresh bread loaf. Yet, Arthur slouched against one of his bed pillars. 

It was like staring into the eyes of a familiar stranger. 

He had woken up to the sight of that exact room for years. He often screamed at Merlin over the last few years about the mess and scrunched his face in disgust every time he had pulled a stray moist sock from behind a bookshelf or flung his blunted training sword in frustration when he discovered a molding half-eaten loaf of bread trapped between the frame of his bed and the wall. Yet the state of the room at its most clean felt hollow. 

Arthur walked with languid steps to the dining table and swiped a sausage off his breakfast tray. He chewed disinterestedly on it and stared at the seats neatly tucked into the table. 

It had been two full years since he’d last seen the two seats at the end of the table tucked in properly. Merlin had deemed it a waste of time since they both knew the chair at the end would fall victim to Arthur’s exhausted ass at the end of each day and Merlin was partial to sitting in the chair to the right of it during the day as he unabashedly stole almost half of Arthur’s meals. 

Arthur kept glancing at the door, but the hallways were silent. 

A deep sigh brushed against his teeth and Arthur quickly walked to his dresser. A burgundy tunic and dark trousers hung off wooden pegs nailed to the wall. He swiftly dressed but he bit his bottom lip, missing the feeling of fingers sliding down his shoulders as Merlin would straighten the fabric over his back.

As Arthur ran his hand roughly through his hair and stared into his reflection in the mirror, he tried to understand why it had been nearly two moons since he had last felt Merlin standing beside him. 

The walls vibrated with the chime of the hourly bell and Arthur pinched himself properly awake. 

His father had thrown several scrolls into his chest the day before with details for a meeting that morning, and he was wasting enough time as it was. He didn’t need the phantom feeling of Merlin’s hands gliding over his collarbone as he’d shave Arthur with careful yet confident strokes with a sharpen razor. 

He freshen himself up with a water bowl perched on the side of the dresser and shook off thoughts of Merlin’s slender fingers caressing the side of Arthur’s jaw as he would clean the prince’s face with a dampen towel. 

“Arthur!” Morgana yelled, bursting through his bedroom door. He rolled his eyes at the blatant lack of respect of even a customary knock. He had gotten used to _Merlin_ ’s lack of knocking. Morgana’s, at the very least, only came once every quarter. “Why aren’t you ready yet?”

“What are you on about?” Arthur arched an eyebrow at her. He flung his arms out and dusted the corners of his tunic. “I’m ready.”

“Then bloody _come on_. Uther’s going to skin us both alive if we’re late again,” Morgana said, twirling her skirts dramatically as she swept herself out of the room. 

“No one asked for you to accompany me to the meeting,” Arthur snarked as he kept in step with her.

“I’m not accompanying _you_ , you oaf. You’re accompanying _me_ ,” she clarified. “I refuse to walk into that meeting of sweating, panting men as they scale my body with their eyes as I come in, and Uther’s too busy burying his head in documents to notice!”

Arthur nodded and gently folded her arm through his. Their steps started to align as they pressed closer. He patted her wrist sympathetically.

“Would he have even done anything?” Arthur asked, though they both knew from his exaggerated eyeroll that he meant it as rhetorical. 

She scoffed. “Perhaps if I were a Pendragon.”

“For what we know, he might be purposefully being obtuse in order to gauge which of the lords would be receptive to a proposal of marriage for you.”

Morgana gagged. “I’d rather he try to tie our houses together by me marrying _you_ instead.”

Arthur refrained from immulating her gag, but he scrunched his face in disgust at the very thought. “At least we’ve grown used to each other from childhood.”

“I am _not_ giving you children,” Morgana huffed. “Who knows if they might inherit your father’s _awful_ squinty eyes.”

“Or they might have _your_ ears.” Arthur nodded, a faint smile scratching the side of his mouth. “The prestige of the Pendragon would surely be lost!”

As they turned down a corridor out of the private sector of the castle into the more public halls accessible to the other lords and officials of the kingdom, Morgana side-eyed him and he instinctively felt sweat caking his back.

“Certainly,” she drawled, voice low and sensual. Then smirked as their eyes caught. “I’m sure you’d prefer slightly more _pronounced_ ears to be inherited in your children. More _visible_. Perhaps... protruding slightly?”

Arthur flushed as flashes of Merlin’s ears penetrated his mind and the way he would swipe his black hair behind them when Arthur got him too sweaty from running back and forth on the training field with arms filled with various blunted swords and shields.

Thoughts of Merlin left Arthur quiet, and it worried Morgana when his jaw slacken and eyes dazed instead of snarking back at her as he would’ve done before.

She prodded his arm. “Are you alright?”

Arthur swallowed and released a hearty sigh. “Have you... talked to Merlin lately?”

“No. Why? Should I have?” Morgana asked, frowning. “Why? What have you done?”

“Nothing!” Arthur defended. He nearly stopped, but Morgana pulled him along. They continued walking but their pace slowed. “He hasn’t..." The prince mumbled. "He has...” Arthur ran a hand over his face and groaned. “My rooms are cleaner than they’ve ever been.”

“...alright?”

“Every job I’ve asked of him is done perfectly.”

“...and?”

Arthur looked her in the eye and frowned. “He does everything when I’m not there.”

Morgana shook her head and stared at him like he had set a puzzle at her feet that could be solved by an infant. “...and that’s bad?”

“He doesn’t wake me up in the morning. He takes away the laundry when I’m asleep. He sets meals on the table before I’ve even entered the room. Once,” Arthur shoved his index finger in Morgana’s face. “He finished prepping my bed for the night, readied the fireplace, _and_ laid out the next day’s armour in the time it took me to dry myself after a bath.” Arthur hissed. “He’s never around anymore!” 

Morgana quietly giggled at Arthur and he was tempted to pull on the braid in her hair in retaliation. Morgana snorted and offered no comfort except to slap him surprisingly tenderly at the back of his neck. He narrowed his eyes at her and remembered explicitly why he rarely went to her for advice.

“Have you tried _talking_ to him?” she asked softly, her lips still twitching from holding back a full-blown laugh.

Arthur pouted. “How am I suppose to talk to someone who slips out the door before I can even finish chewing the first spoonful of dinner?”

“Not like you’ve ever had trouble ordering him around ridiculously before.” 

They both grew quiet and straighten their bodies when several servants passed by. The maids bowed respectfully to him, but he narrowed his eyes slightly when he watched them walk away with sympathetic looks glistening in their eyes as they looked at him. 

He nudged Morgana’s arm and tilted his head to the servants. She turned back at him, lips pouted in confusion as well. 

“I take you have no idea what’s all that about?” he asked. 

She shrugged.

They stopped outside a large ornate oak wood door. Two armoured soldiers stood on either side of it. They bowed respectfully before each grasped one end of the door and pulled it open. A red curtain fell to where the door had been. It hid the sight of the room but they heard the coarse guttural laughter of several men from inside. 

Arthur patted Morgana’s arm reassuringly when her hand tighten in his. She nodded her thanks but her eyes were twitching and her lips were pinched. 

“You’ve done this before, Morgana,” Arthur said. “You’ve managed to dodge this very problem for decades.”

“Yes... but I had the excuse of I had not even bled yet then.” She blew out a shaking breath, then forced herself to breathe evenly and let a calm mask fall over her face. “They might not take kindly to a refusal now that I’ve ‘ _bloomed_ ’...” She stopped and turned her head to the side and shifted herself in front of Arthur a little. She tapped his upper arm and pointed to the end of the hallway to their right. “Isn’t that Merlin?”

Arthur swivelled in place and followed her finger. 

The end of the corridor opened to a small courtyard. The walls had been taken down after an invasion that happened before their births, and only four pillars the width of a horse carriage remained.

Arthur’s eyes swept down those pillars and noticed wild hyacinth growing between them. 

A man fawned over the flowers, crouching beside them, fiddling the golden petals between his slender fingers. Merlin leaned against one of the pillars, arms crossed behind his back in a mocking parade rest. His blue eyes shone in mirth as he laughed at something the man said. 

It was the first time in at least a season that Arthur saw Merlin with his shoulders slack and expression open. His manservant's leg was absent-mindedly swinging and tapping the shin of the other man every few seconds.

"Arthur," Morgana's soft voice pulled him away from the duo. She looked up at him worriedly.

He clenched his fist tightly against his thigh, closed his eyes and blew a long drawn breath. "Father's waiting," he said simply.

He had expected Morgana to challenge him. To push him in their direction and toss the meeting aside. It dawned on him just how much she dreaded the men in that room when she only looked forward and stared at the curtains with a frown as if the fabric had drawn a sword and murdered Gwen in petty fun. 

He rubbed the back of her hand gently and took a step forward. 

They walked in step once again as they allowed the curtain to fall away from them, and Arthur watched from the corner of his eyes as Merlin walked further into the courtyard with that man. A crown of sun-coloured hyacinths perched on his head and the man's arm around his shoulders.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is presenting stalking-like tendencies and I do not condone such behavior... but they are technically in the grounds of his own home. So... 🤷

Sweat dripped along the underside of Arthur's jaw. He swiped the back of his hand under his chin and frowned as he fell to the ground in a tight squat. He felt utterly ridiculous. Thorns dug into his knees and grass tickled the rim of his trousers. He shuffled on his heels for several minutes, cursing explosively in the recesses of his own mind, then settled the bushes grazing the nape of his neck to blanket him completely. He blew out a slow breath and twisted his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Arthur was the crown prince of a kingdom. Yet he was groveling in weeds.

He had thrown the responsibility of heading the knight's training for the day to Leon. He shuffled half-read documents into a passing Lancelot's arms to archive in the royal room of records. He even had the gall to press a finger to Morgana's lips when she had begun to question why he was using the back hallways in a sector of the castle Uther had never bothered to rebuild after it had been torn apart by a resurrected ghoul in the first year of Merlin's service as his manservant.

He had been reduced to rubbing circles into a corner of his stomach as it cramped in the middle of an unattended forest at the back of his own childhood castle, for Camelot's sake!

He shivered thinking of the possibility of his father finding him in such a ridiculous situation, cradled in leaves as if he were some newly birthed nymph. The subsequent flogging he had no doubts the king would firmly demand in his efforts to 'educate' his heir of the necessity of a dignified appearance required of a royal would unmistakably feel righteous to the king.

Rich laughter abruptly caught in the air and Arthur snapped his eyes forward. He would sooner shove Morgana into fresh mud on the training grounds than admit, but he recognized the sound of that laugh better than he could even recall a memory of his father's. He slipped his fingers between several branches and pushed sunset tinted leaves aside.

Merlin stood in a circle of flatten grass. His shoulders shook in his laughter. He ran a hand through his hair, and Arthur hoarsely gulped watching him tucking it behind his ear. 

“Piss off, Daryn.” Merlin shoved the man he had been with the day before. 

The man had a delicate curve to his face Arthur couldn’t stop from tracing with his eyes as he collapsed to the ground in an exaggerated sprawl. He then patted the ground by his hip with a glint in his eye. Merlin kicked the front of his shoes into the an exposed calf as he walked over. They moved to sit besides each other and Arthur pouted when Daryn pressed his thigh against Merlin’s. 

A canvas bag was pulled off of Merlin’s shoulders then dropped between them. Two wrapped sandwiches, a waterskin, three mini cherry pies, and several scrolls were pulled and laid out in the grass. 

Merlin mindlessly fingered open a scroll and immediately tossed his head back in a groan. “How am I meant to memorize all these names?”

He was met with an arched eyebrow and a sly smirk. “Are you informing me that the man who managed to learn four years worth of servant training in a fortnight is balking at mere sentences on a parchment?” 

Merlin waved the scroll above his head frantically. “This is not _mere_ words! There’s definitely more than fifty different family names in this scroll alone.”

“Taking into account the families that branched out from the main line, and those who were either disinherited or came from unacknowledged bastards...” Daryn chuckled, a sadistic smile curling in the corner of his lip. “That’s more than a thousand names, Merlin.” He flicked the edge of the scroll Merlin held. “The beginning thirty is laughable. I’m not even bothering you with anyone who lived before Uther’s reign since it feels insignificant for the time when Arthur would ascend.”

Merlin slumped and groaned. “ _Why_ did I agree to these lessons?” Arthur perked as he watched Merlin push his face into the scroll and rubbed browning parchment into his cheeks.

 _Lessons?_ Arthur narrowed his eyes and rubbed his chin. This was the first he’d heard of Merlin bothering with any sort of lessons. When he had asked Gaius for Merlin’s whereabouts several years ago, the older man had ranted for a full quarter hour at him about keeping the young man meant to take over after Gaius was gone so busy that Merlin hadn’t had any time at all to learn even a single draught remedy from the graying physician. He had barely held onto his metaphorically bleeding ears before escaping when sweet Gwen had stumbled into the rooms to request for some bruising balm Morgana was too ashamed to allow herself to ask for. 

“You’re the one who asked of me to teach you all I know to mold you into the ‘proper’ manservant deserving of being at Arthur’s back.” Daryn unwrapped his sandwich and tauntingly teased it against his lips, inhaling the smoky smell of cured meats, spiced fermented cabbage, and pickled radishes. He slapped the back of Merlin’s hand when he tried reaching for his share, then pointed to the scroll with a knowing look. “Get on with it. You might be up to par with some of the best servants now in terms of physical skill, but your master is no mere lord.”

Merlin moaned, falling onto his back and burying half his head in the tall weeds they had left undisturbed outside of the circle of flatten grass.

Several minutes passed in silence as Daryn devoured his meal.

He licked the side of his fingers smeared with mustard and eyed Merlin mumbling names of lords he would possibly meet in the future as the crown prince’s primary servant. Arthur itched to walk forward to slap the man across the scalp and tear his eyes away. 

“Have you met those maids again since the whole...” Daryn trailed off, pouted and tapped his bottom lip.

Merlin scoffed. “Altercation?”

Daryn shrugged. “Dog fight, more like.”

“Yesterday. Before you came and got me.”

“How did you fare?”

“Like a show-horse.” Merlin shot up and frowned at the slimmer man. “They were apparently ‘impressed’ by my sudden improvements but essentially chalked any skill to your interference.”

“Well, they aren’t _wrong_.”

Merlin spluttered. “ _I_ did all the work! I scrubbed those floors! I made sure to handle everything before the sun rose exactly as you told me to!” Merlin huffed. He tied the scroll shut then tossed it back into the bag with a snap of his wrist. “You _taught_ me but _I_ did the work!”

“Well, they didn’t get to witness you do any of the work, did they?”

“That’s what you _told_ me to do!” Merlin shoved at his arm. “ ‘ _Work silently. A properly trained and skilled servant is like a non-lethal assassin. Does the work from the shadows. Unnoticed, unacknowledged, and anticipates their masters every need before it even requires to be said.’_ ”

Arthur frowned, but he couldn’t fault the truth spouted from Merlin’s lips. Before he had the years with Merlin in his rooms, Arthur would’ve shuddered at the very notion of a servant as disrespectful and incompetant as Merlin had been in the early days. He should be thankful for the help of this young man he’d never formally met, yet his chest tightened and his breath shuttered at the thought of George’s features taking over Merlin’s body. 

“For the lords and masters, of course. It is what is expected and required.” Daryn nodded firmly and stood. “But your issues had never been with the ones in power.”

Merlin squinted an eye at him. “My frequent visitation to the stocks beg to differ.”

“That was pure Uther,” Daryn laughed. "Gaius, Geoffrey, and Morgana look on you fondly. Even Arthur had no qualms with how you were before.”

“My memory of the number of times he screeched at me about my lack of progress in the tasks he assigns feels the need to argue with you desperately on that.” Arthur winced when he remembered the throws he had chucked against Merlin’s head each time the slender man replied him with sass after his accusations of laziness. 

Daryn reached behind a cluster of thorn bushes backeting the secluded area. He unflinchingly pushed his arm through and pulled out a glinting metallic sword. The width of the sword was wider than the style of any sword Arthur had been exposed to. It was simple made with dulled edges and specks of rust splattered along its blade. 

“Are you honestly serious about using that ridiculous sword, Daryn?” Merlin asked. He huffed when the younger man merely grinned and tilted his head with a wink. “Arthur would never let you. You know that, right?"

“I never expected him to,” Daryn sighed wistfully. “I doubt even Percival would be able to wield it efficiently in battle.” Arthur scrunched his face as he bit down on his lip, forcing a hiss to die in his throat when Daryn impaled the sword into the ground unceremoniously, then shuffled behind Merlin. He wrapped himself over the taller man’s shoulders and nuzzled into the back of Merlin’s neck. “He might change his mind if his _favourite_ person in the kingdom were to slyly comment on the lack of variety in choices of weaponry within the knight’s ranks,” he drawled.

Merlin shivered and let Daryn drop as he briskly shuffled away. “Just get into stance, you cretin.”

Daryn looked at Merlin like he had aged fifty years in a moment. “You spend far too much time around Gaius and Geoffrey. ’ _Cretin_ ’. I haven’t ever heard a man under forty use that word.”

“I’ve barely even seen them over the last moon thanks to you!”

“ _You_ walked up to _me_!”

“ _You_ swung your sword at _me_ first!”

“I did not!”

“Just grab that thing already and get into stance!” Merlin stood and dusted the back of his trousers. “Arthur will be heading back to his rooms soon and it’s hard enough going from the kitchens to his chambers without having to dash to the kitchen first from here.”

Arthur assumed Daryn must’ve fallen in pity for Merlin since he simply quietly pulled the broad sword from the ground. Arthur frowned as he watched the man’s slender arms pick up the sword unsteadily. His narrow legs were too wide apart and his grip too high on the hilt. He grimaced with every practice swing. Sweat soaked the fraying fabric of the man’s tunic and he scowled, visibly uncomfortable with the feel of metal heavier than a young bull in his grasp. Arthur wanted to scream at the fool who allowed an untrained moron to hold a sword larger than his entire torso. 

“You’re swinging way too forcefully,” Merlin said, jabbing Daryn’s elbow.

“It’s _swordfighting_ , Merlin. It’s _suppose_ to be forceful,” Daryn spat.

“Force isn’t the only neccessity in being a good swordsman."

Merlin stepped around and circled him.

“ ‘ _Any fool can take on a sword, but the skills needed to wield it with precision and grace is learnt through years of practice, dedication, and a sharp mind._ ’ ” Arthur flushed listening to Merlin’s voice deepen in a mockery of his own tone.

With a gentle grasp, Merlin corrected the man’s stance and arm position until it resembled more of how the knights were drilled to in every morning practice session. Arthur eyed the few adjustments still needed in the man’s ankle and torso. 

“Was that what your _darling_ told you during your ‘private lessons’?”

“He’s not my ‘darling’,” Merlin huffed. He rolled his eyes and kicked the back of the man’s uncovered shin, leaving a muddied grass stain on the man’s pale skin. The shorter man yelped but remained in stance.

As Merlin faced him, Daryn’s lips pulled in a smirk and he wiggled his eyebrows. “Sweetheart then?”

“There’s nothing sweet about that brute,” Merlin huffed. Arthur’s head snapped upwards, offended.

“Treasure?”

“Buried in a cave two miles out of Camelot’s lands.”

“Honey-buns?”

Merlin shoved a finger into the man’s face. “Don’t make me get Gwaine to give all your precious swords to Gwen’s dad to melt down for reusable silver.”

The man gasped. “What did my precious ever do to warrant such disrespect?”

“Your existence.”

“Harsh.”

The man shouldered the sword when Merlin firmly nodded, clearly satisfied with the corrections - and Arthur could no longer hold back clicking his tongue in irritation. 

Arthur abruptly shot up and briskly walked towards them in stiff strides. “I question your qualifications in guiding _anyone_ in the way of the sword, Merlin.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I don't mean to make my characters flirty AF 👋😅 it just somehow always turns out that way. Can you blame them 😏👌 with such eye-candy around???

Arthur kept a steady gaze on Merlin as he stepped out of the bushes he had been cowering behind. Weeds weaved around his ankles unrepentantly, tickling his shins like a rash and he unconsciously sighed in relief once he stepped into the circle of pressed grass. 

Merlin took a step back, head bowed and a grimace marring his face when Arthur refused to break eye-contact with him despite angling his body towards Daryn. Arthur could see the smaller man in the corner of his eye. He was grinning. 

“Well, to be graced with the presence of the crown prince. This really is my lucky spot in the kingdom,” Daryn said, snickering.

He flicked his long hair over his shoulder and shoved the broadsword into the ground again. He gave a mocking bow, then straighten with a hand kept to his hip and his chin jutted out as if to challenge Arthur non-verbally.

Arthur finally tore his eyes away from his manservant to arch an eyebrow. He had expected more grace from a man supposedly giving Merlin lessons on what it meant to be a ‘proper’ manservant. 

His thoughts must have shown on his face for Daryn sniggered and patted a hand over his chest. “This is the furthest thing from a formal event, Your Highness. If you had been in full-armour while towering over me as I bend at the knee, and with a sword in hand scrapping my shoulders - then _perhaps_ I will speak a touch more affluently.”

Merlin pressed his face into his hands and groaned. “For the love of Camelot, please _shut up_ , Daryn,” Merlin pleaded.

“Why? Do you think it’ll change the time it would take for the servants to put together a pyre?” Daryn tapped a finger to his chin. “The last one took nearly a day to assemble. Though it was for a _family of four_. It had to be significantly wider to accommodate, I suppose.”

Merlin’s face paled. “Arthur isn’t going to burn us.”

“Oh, most certainly not you. No prince I can think of would bother scouring an abandoned portion of their castle looking for an unwanted servant.” Arthur flushed at the brunett for his insinuation. Daryn winked at him, then said, “But he has no such attachment to little unknown me.” 

He pulled his arms behind his back and started walking along the edge of the circle in the grass. A moist sound of scrunched cloths set to be laundered squelched with each of his steps. 

“Do you think they’ll announce me to be burnt as a ‘them’?” Daryn asked as he passed Merlin. “I severely do not want to be thrown into a cast-off frock for the burning.” He paused, scratched his cheek and hummed. “Unless I can somehow be given one of the Lady Morgana’s hand-me-downs. They’re at least a touch prettier than the cushion fabrics my father had been able to afford.” He turned to Merlin. “Do you think Gwen will be able to grab one for me?” 

Arthur repeatedly blinked with a pinched look on his face. “What do you mean... a ‘them’?”

Daryn and Merlin exchanged glances. Merlin shifted uncomfortably and shrugged when Daryn tilted his head in Arthur’s direction. 

Daryn moved to stand before Arthur. He squared his shoulders and stood tall. “I am neither man nor woman, Your Highness,” Daryn said. He laughed lowly as the crown prince’s face tensed in confusion. “I present as a man but I was birthed a woman. Yet I feel no pull in being one over the other. I am neither ‘she’ nor ‘he’.” Daryn released a long breath. He gathered his hand into a fist and folded his arm against his chest in a formal salute. “I am a _**them**_.”

Arthur continued to look upon Daryn in confusion but a flash of a wide smile sprung in his memory of a young Morgana storming into his rooms and fingering her way through his cupboards. She had taken some trousers and a few of the blue tunics he had shoved to the back behind his favourite reds. The next time she was with them, she stood over his body with a mud-caked boot on his chest, a sword perfectly fitted in her palm, and his tunic gently caught on a summer breeze. She had looked like a queen made to lead a garrison, and she grinned more confidently then than she ever had with her arms by her waist in a petite dress sitting delicately by his father’s throne.

He relaxed his shoulders, and allowed an uneven smile on his face as he watched Merlin practically vibrating a step behind Daryn. He clasped a hand on Daryn’s shoulder and squeezed firmly. “A sword does not care if it is wielded by a man, woman or someone who is both. It only cares for the dedication and nurthered skill to wield it to its full strength.”

Both Daryn and Merlin released a sigh of relief, and the beaming smile taking over Merlin’s face had Arthur stepping away from the shorter broadsword wielder to cough hoarsely in a closed fist.

“In any case,” Arthur started. “No one is going to be burnt.”

Daryn snorted. “I was just about to ask if I’d be allowed to be bound in my father’s armor.” 

Merlin smacked the back of Daryn’s head. 

A low rumble coming from Arthur's stomach made him flush and Daryn burst out laughing, clutching onto their side. 

Arthur cleared his throat pointedly into a closed fist. “Merlin, go wait in my rooms. I’ll be there shortly.”

The heavy frown on Merlin’s face made it clear he wanted to do exactly **_not_** that, but the training seemed to have truly sunk into Merlin. He bowed respectfully and left without another word. His steps were hesitant and heavy, clearly reluctant but he did not stop when Arthur said nothing more. 

Once he was sure Merlin was truly far enough away to not be able to pick up their voices in the wind, Arthur gestured to Daryn. They moved to the back of the area where a cluster of boulders were pushed together to form a makeshift seating, partially camouflaged by ivy growing along its side.

They settled and Daryn crossed their legs at their ankle with an indulgent grin. They were not inclined to speak if going by the way they casually started flicking the growing ivy with their fingertips. Arthur cradled his forehead in his propped arm, having a sudden notion that Daryn was more than willing to wait in silence til the stars shone. 

Arthur cleared his throat and asked, “How much more ‘training’ did you have in mind for Merlin?”

Daryn arched an eyebrow. "Officially, it is done. He has the exact skills needed for a well-sought servant any lord would pay silver for,” they said, their grin growing wider. 

“Then, unofficially?”

Daryn crowed a low, almost bitter laugh. “It wasn’t enough for him.” They reviewed Arthur with shrewed eyes, then nodded when Arthur did not shy away. “Merlin wanted to learn more. He’s not trying to learn how to be a servant of a lord,” Daryn sighed wistfully. “He’s learning to be a servant of a **_king_** , Your Highness.”

“For me.”

“For you.”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, leaned back further and watched as the sky slowly darken. “However, it doesn’t need to be you who does the teaching.” He straighten and glared at Daryn. “Geoffrey and Gaius could teach him just as well.”

Daryn shrugged. “Perhaps, but he came to me for the combined lessons of ettiquette, court knowledge, and servitude. He wouldn’t have been able to get that in one package from a royal record keeper or physician. They never had to serve in the ways Merlin is expected to.”

“But you’ve said the servitude lessons are essentially over. The rest he would be able to learn easily from Gaius.”

Daryn frowned. “Do you honestly think that he could when he hadn’t even the time to teach the boy how to stitch a wound closed?” They tapped the side of Arthur’s shoulder roughly. “You might only ever see Gaius standing timidly by the king’s side during trials, but the man’s the royal court physician. Half his day is already being taken up just with brewing sleeping draughts for the Lady Morgana.”

Arthur stood up stubbornly. “Then I’ll---”

“Do not make promises you cannot keep,” Daryn warned. They stood up on the boulder and purposefully towered over Arthur. “Merlin has been learning for your sake. I have indulged him because it benefits me just as well, but you have yet to show me how I could profit from helping you.”

Arthur’s frown deepened, but he nodded in acknowledgement. He crossed his arms over his chest. “What benefit could you possibly take from Merlin?”

They rolled their eyes. “Merlin has been your servant for many years now. He has been dragged to more knights’ training than any other who is not a knight themselves.”

Arthur hummed. “You would not be welcomed among the knights.”

“Of course not,” they said, jumping off the boulder, snorting. “Even if I had the skills, knights can only come from the **_sons_** of nobles.”

“So you would have Merlin give you subpar sword training?” Arthur worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “You could develop horrible habits that would risk your life in a proper battle.”

“What other choice do I have?” Daryn sighed and shrugged. “Merlin gave me an opportunity that had been denied to me through my birth.” Their eyes harden. “I wasn’t going to question a blessing eagerly thrown to my face.”

Arthur quietly watched the city torches be lit in the distance. The sky had darken enough that if they did not move soon, they’d be hard pressed to see even their own hair blown into their faces by the rapidly growing evening winds.

He dropped his arms to his sides and fingered the hilt of his sword at his belt. “Come with me,” he said suddenly. 

Daryn miraculously didn’t question as he followed a step behind Arthur as they walked away from the castle grounds into the back regions of the city. The echoing sounds of cobblestones scrapping underneath their boots were drowned by the increasing chatter of citizens returning from work and elbowing each other for the last bits in the markets before the night truly set in. 

Arthur lead them down a narrow path between several houses barely larger than drinking wells. He stopped at one that looked no different from any other, aside from the front door being painted in a disgusting vomit green colour. He grimaced when he laid eyes on it and gingerly knocked, despite knowing the colour had dried long ago. 

Lancelot pulled open the door with a surprised arched in his brow but stepped aside without even a greetnig when Arthur quickly eyed him, then flashed to Daryn, before pointedly glancing into the room. 

Arthur looked upon the two potential soldiers in the room with a small shred of respect when they did not bombard him with questions and instead stood a foot from each other with their arms behind their backs in a far more relaxed version of a parade rest.

He looked to Lancelot. “Do you remember what I promised you when you first arrived in Camelot?”

Lancelot’s eyes shone, flashing with the kind of innocent hope that either captivated Arthur or sent a shiver down his spine in worry if he’d be able to live up to the expectation of it. 

“Yes, sir. I’ve been in contact with the other men you’ve listed and we’ve been waiting for further instruction,” Lancelot said.

“Good.” Arthur inclined to Daryn. “This is Daryn. They have potential if trained properly.” He watched as Lancelot smiled kindly to them, a dark curl falling handsomely onto his forehead, and huffed when Daryn’s face blushed sweetly when they made eye-contact. “Daryn,” he called seriously. 

He waited til Daryn painstakingly pulled their eyes away from the other man’s chiselled face with a reluctant huff.

“My father follows on traditions. Thus, as you’ve said, only the children of nobles will ever be given the privilage of holding a sword as a knight within Camelot’s walls,” Arthur said. He watched as fury blazed behind Daryn’s eyes and his respect for them increased when they only frowned and bit the inside of their cheek. “Morgana and I believe it is a waste of available resources to toss aside perfectly able sword-wielders just because of the circumstances of their birth.” He gestured to Lancelot. “Lancelot has agreed to gather and find housing for others who either have the skill or the potential of a skill being set aflamed with a guiding hand.”

Daryn tilted his head. “Will the ‘ever knowledgable’ crown prince be the one to train them?”

“No. Someone far better for the role than me.” Arthur smirked when he saw the confusion further settle between their brows. “Morgana will.”

Daryn jerked back a step. 

Lancelot chuckled and raised a hand to steady them. “The Lady Morgana has been kind enough to offer her time in the evenings for when Arthur deems we have enough soldiers for her to bother with.”

“And with the addition of Daryn, we have just enough,” Arthur said. He struck a pose with a hand on his hip and looked down at Daryn with a challenging tilt in his chin. “That is, if you think you’ll be able to withstand instructions from someone who has actually blooded their sword before.”

Daryn puffed out their chest and pounded a closed fist against their collarbone. “Without a doubt, Your Grace."

Arthur walked forward til he was nearly in the other’s face. “You understand Morgana has other responsibilities to the realm. She only has a small window of time she will be free to do as she wishes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“For the foreseeable future, only her evenings have been made free since father has been allowing her to dine in her rooms alone due to tiredness from the lack of restful sleep," Arthur clapped his hands. "Meaning,” Arthur held Daryn’s shoulder with a firm grasp, digging his thumb in. “Your evenings will be busy with learning from her.” Arthur abruptly released Daryn and perched his hip on a dining table beside them. “If you are serious about being able to actually use that broadsword of yours.”

A heavy tension crackled between them. A chuckle tickled in Arthur’s throat when Lancelot took several steps away to busy himself with preparing several mugs of ale. Arthur further raised an eyebrow, waiting. 

Daryn closed his eyes with a deep exhaled breath, and said resoundly, “Of course, Your Excellency.”

“Good.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never thought Arthur should be as stupid as he was portrayed in canon. But being a little oblivious is fine and definitely makes sense when no one other than Uther ever scolds him for shit. Can anyone imagine Uther scolding Arthur about looking down on a servant? I can't.

The ache in Arthur’s stomach rumbled into a roar. He swore he could feel it vibrating from his torso to the back of his throat. Bile washed into his mouth and he stumbled as he held in the vomit surging from the bitter taste.

As he took the last few strides towards his chambers, the guards stationed on either side of his door saluted him stiffly and formally, but their lips were twitching and the hands on the hilts of their swords were rattling softly. 

He looked on them with a prideful smile stretching the length of his face, and as he approached he tilted head at them fondly. 

He stopped directly in front of the door and trailed his fingernail into the crevices of the stained wood, hesitating. He rubbed a corner of his chest and pressed his ear into the door. He sighed when he heard nothing. Not even the shuffling of pacing footsteps on cobblestone.

Snickering erupted from either side of him the longer he stood between them. Arthur’s ears flushed red and he elbowed the two, wincing a bit when his arms crashed into their plated armour. Arthur said nothing as he slipped through the door but as the door snapped shut, their armour clunked and their laughter was faintly audible through the thick oak doors. He rolled his eyes but he didn’t stalk out of the room to reprimand them.

A floral scent wafted into his nostrils as he passed the dining table. An arrangement of blue hyacinths were encased in a large vase he had no recollection of ever seeing. 

He wanted to question it as he was rarely gifted flowers since most of the aristocrats he was forced to commune with knew of his preference of swords and daggers. 

Morgana typically was the one buried in an avalanche of bouquets and arrangements despite her having the exact same preferences. He was sure her room’s sole decoration by now were the vases often gifted with the flowers. She had been drowned with suitors from the very moment knowledge of her beginning to bleed somehow made its way into the ears of the lords, and it honestly had Arthur on the verge of either violently gagging or wanting to simply become violent. She had only seen twelve winters at the time. Arthur had thrown his child-size glove _into_ the face of the first lord who had tried instead of the proper etiquette of throwing it at the man’s feet in his fit of anger. His father had buried his face into his forearm to hide the fact he was laughing uncontrollably and Morgana had slipped him all of her desserts at dinner for a month. 

He traced the vase’s engraving of a faceless man riding on the back of a young dragon wordlessly, though he shivered minutely under Merlin’s gaze as it pierced the back of his neck when his fingertips lingered on the body of the black dragon. 

His eyes casually swept over the room. Fire crackled healthily in the hearth. His eyebrows arched when he noticed a small side table with a jug of ale and a lounging chair was placed a foot away from the fire. He narrowed his eyes at the single half-filled goblet prepared beside it. Arthur scruffed the tip of his boot against the cobblestones to reel in his frustration.

The bed covers had been turned down for the night and he watched with heavy eyes as Merlin stood with hunched shoulders by the foot of Arthur’s bed. His hands folded demurely in front of him and his head at a downward tilt. 

Irritation clawed in Arthur’s chest but he shook his head and forced out a ragged breath. “Merlin.”

“Sire.”

Arthur was tempted to grab the slimmer man by his shoulders when he said nothing else, simply waiting for Arthur to speak. He could tell from the furrow on Merlin’s face and the way he thrummed his fingers in his clasped hands that Merlin had something to say, but the training was effective. A servant did not speak out of turn. If it had been for anyone other than Merlin, Arthur would have been steadily impressed with the effects of Daryn’s training. As it was, Arthur ran a hand over his face and reminded himself the man would be in Morgana’s sweet mercies soon enough.

“How much longer are you going to be like this?” he asked. 

Merlin continued keeping his gaze down to the floor. 

“While I’m... _thankful_ you’ve taken up the initiative to better yourself, it’s entirely unnecessary.”

Arthur grinned as he watched Merlin’s head snap up. His frown deepened and he bit his bottom lip hard enough to bleed. Arthur sighed, pulled out a cloth from a pocket and tossed it into Merlin’s chest, seemingly carelessly. He caught it without looking and silently wiped his mouth clean. 

A moment of silence stretched and Arthur leaned into the dining table at his hip. “Your service was fine as it was.”

Merlin scoffed. “You cannot be serious.”

“You weren’t fired,” Arthur said, smirking.

“That was only because _the king_ appointed me as your manservant and no one but he could forcefully take the ‘privilege’ away from me.” Merlin cleared his throat. “As you clearly know, sire.”

“Well, either way,” Arthur drawled. “Your training is finished.”

“What?”

“Daryn informed me he is no longer needed for your training. You’ve learnt all that is necessary for a proper servant.”

“No, I haven’t. There’s still so much---” He trailed off when Arthur merely nodded, eyes closed and armed crossed. His entire body was relaxed and the confident tilt of his hip made him look extremely satisfied. “Arthur.” Merlin took a staggering step back. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

Merlin violently shook his head. “Daryn was _just_ discussing with me this afternoon about potentially adding more topics to the scrolls I’m meant to read each week since I was finally done with the physical portion of my training. Why would they say that if my training was to end?”

“I don’t know them well enough to know.” Arthur shrugged. “Perhaps they realized any more training would be a waste of time.”

“Arthur! It took me _weeks_ to convince them to teach me.” Merlin ran his hands frantically through his short hair. “I had to prove to them that I was serious about learning all I could.”

Arthur frowned but Merlin stepped away from him when Arthur tried to pry Merlin’s arms off his head. “Why Daryn specifically? Any knowledge you require should be more than available in the royal libraries.”

“Those documents aren’t open for just _anyone_. None of the other servants would even be allowed to step foot through the door.”

“Exactly, but you’re _my_ manservant. You have special privileges of your own.”

Merlin looked at Arthur like he was conversing with a child, which Arthur huffed at. “Unless I have the written permission of _the king_ , I am only allowed to _transport_ the documents from the archive. They would be sealed in a way that would make it obvious if it had been read by someone unauthorized.”

“Then Daryn wouldn’t be authorized either.”

“Daryn has their own copies.”

“What? Why?”

Merlin sat on a truck at the foot of Arthur’s bed, rested his elbows on his knees and pressed his face into his hands. “Daryn is from a low-born noble family. They were denied even the opportunity to be trained as a knight _not_ because of their ancestry but because they were born in _a body of a woman_. It still meant they had access to their family’s documents, though. Papers I would never be allowed to touch without them because I am not of Dragonet blood.”

“Dragonet?” Arthur squinted his eyes. “I’ve never heard of a Dragonet lordship.”

“Not surprising.” Merlin sighed. “Their line was formed with the condition that only the first _blood_ born son is allowed to hold the title. They’ve been blessed with numerous generations of children but only daughters have been birthed for the last six hundred years.”

Arthur whistled and grimaced at the thought of an entire family made up of only various renditions of Morgana. He counted a small victory when Merlin snorted but smiled. 

“Besides,” Merlin eyed him between his fingers. “Geoffrey said you were very disinterested in the historical lessons on the lords and ladies of the court. You were much more excited to cut those lessons short in order to prologue your sword lessons.”

Arthur blushed but didn’t deny it. “A prince needs to be excellent with a sword, Merlin.”

“A _king_ needs to be knowledgeable of the people he’s going to rule, Arthur.”

A suffocating silence settled between them. 

Arthur’s foot tapped impatiently against the dining table’s leg and Merlin looked as if he wasn’t breathing with his entire face buried in his hands and the curtain fall of his dark hair. 

“ _Regardless_ ,” Arthur says, straightening his shoulders. “You shouldn’t need to be worrying about any of that, Merlin. Your duties are that of a mere servant. You don’t have to concern yourself about the affairs of the lordships. That’s important work far above your understanding.”

Merlin slowly pulled his hands away from his face and sat with his back pressing into the bed-frame behind him. He looked at Arthur with an expressionless face, his eyes dull and Arthur didn’t like the way Merlin’s arms fell to his thighs as if he didn’t have the strength in him to keep them closer to his torso. 

“You know...” Merlin flicked his tongue over chapped lips. “I managed to convince Daryn to teach me by changing his mind about you.” He blinked slowly. “I told him you would be a great king.”

A well of pride filled Arthur’s chest for a moment, before it crashed when Merlin sighed and shook his head. He carefully stood and dragged his feet towards the chamber’s doors. 

As Merlin crossed the room, it was as if he looked passed Arthur and walked right through him.

“Maybe one day you’ll prove me right,” he murmured.

The click of the door closing echoed through the rooms and into Arthur’s mind, fading into a deafening buzz in his ears.


End file.
